you cut me open to view my insides and are disappointed to find that I am made of blood and flesh and bones. fragile things that can be easily bruised. you command I change to brick and mortar so I can’t be easily swayed by the force of your storms, to stay shiny and new and not reflect the damage you’ve done. to paint my face with a smile so it’s not hard to look at me and to be easily digestible when you try to swallow me whole.
